


The Sea and the Stars

by Rhaized



Series: Adventures of Mary and Marisa [13]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Inspired by a poem I came across, Marisa can't feel, Mary can't sleep, retrospection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaized/pseuds/Rhaized
Summary: “Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water, and everyone you love is made of stardust. You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day, you are going to find yourself again.”—or—Marisa is the sea and Mary is the stars.(Above lines from poem “Saltwater” by Finn Butler)
Relationships: Marisa Coulter/Mary Malone
Series: Adventures of Mary and Marisa [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073954
Comments: 18
Kudos: 38





	The Sea and the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> "Saltwater"
> 
> Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.  
> And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know  
> sometimes  
> you cannot even breathe deeply, and  
> the night sky is no home, and  
> you have cried yourself to sleep enough times  
> that you are down to your last two percent, but
> 
> nothing is infinite,  
> not even loss.
> 
> You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day  
> you are going to find yourself again.
> 
> —Finn Butler, /The Wreckage/

Sometimes Marisa cried late at night when she thought Mary was sleeping. 

Mary heard her most times. Her cries were light and subdued, like rain pattering against the side of a building on a damp and cloudy day. Mary felt it in her bones, too, as she did the weather. It made her stiff and ache as she knew very well there was nothing she could do. All Mary could offer was silence and sympathy, only one of which Marisa  _ actually _ wanted from her. 

Marisa wasn’t always like this, though.

Mornings were best for her. Marisa awoke early each day, well before daybreak. Mary only knew because she’d gotten up to check one time, curious that every morning Marisa was gone from their bed and sometimes left the golden monkey behind. He would blink at her sleepily before curling himself into her lap and pleading for her to fall back asleep. But this time she’d gotten up, too, taking the monkey’s hand and rolling out of bed as she checked the alarm clock.  _ 5:02am. _

She was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee in her right hand and balancing a book with her left. The overhead light was on and shone harshly on Marisa as she stared ahead of her with perfect poise, her eyes scanning rapidly across each page before swiftly turning them. Mary and the monkey simply watched, as if in a trance. She was so beautiful, this strange woman from a strange world with such strange mannerisms and habits. Mary wanted to learn everything about her. Mary never wanted to be rid of her.

“You’re up early.” She said it without looking at her, which made sense. Mary shook herself, continuing to stare as Marisa kept reading her book, ankles crossed and posture straight in her light teal pajamas.

“Yeah,” Mary yawned, and she floated over to her, still half-asleep. The golden monkey hesitated a moment before sauntering over to Marisa, who glanced downwards to meet his eyes briefly. Coldness flowed from her blue depths to his black pearls. It was some kind of reprimand, almost, as if to ask how  _ dare  _ he, or how  _ could  _ he. 

But then it was gone almost too quickly for Mary to be sure that it had ever been there. She turned instead to look at Mary, her entire face softening. “Are you still sleepy?”

“Mhmm,” Mary muttered, and she found herself grinning and chuckling as she took a seat across from Marisa at the table, watching the woman go back to her book and adjust herself with what seemed like a lighter air about her.

“There’s more coffee in the pot if you’d like some,” Marisa offered, and then she was quiet again as she returned to her book, focus rapt and sharp as she consumed each and every line.

She was calm. She was rhythmic. She was vast. She was everything Mary ever could want.

But Marisa was not like this at the current moment.

The sobs escaped her in a way Mary knew Marisa didn’t want. Mary kept her eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep, but she  _ felt  _ as well as heard it. The entire bed shook slightly from the intensity of Marisa’s cries. Mary couldn’t see her, but she was sure Marisa’s shoulders were shuddering and her chest was heaving, despite her attempts at muffling her cries. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop it, either. And Mary couldn’t blame her for it, after all that had happened.

When Marisa had finally stopped and fell back to sleep, Mary carefully edged out of the bed. She took care not to wake the monkey. He was a light sleeper who awoke at the tiniest movement and followed Mary if she got up in the middle of the night. But tonight he stayed still, snoring lightly at the foot of the bed by Marisa’s feet. Mary stopped to gaze at him a moment as she passed by, wondering if he cried, too, and what it felt like, to feel the emotions of another so acutely and intimately.

Mary closed the bedroom door behind her without making a sound, which was quite the achievement for her. She then made her way to the living room where she grabbed her coat and slipped outside.

Mary always preferred the evening. It was a sacred time for her, where the world was obscure yet radiant and immobile yet  _ alive.  _ It was a cool autumn night as she stepped off the porch out onto the lawn to look up at the sky. It was clear tonight, with barely any cloud coverage. A collection of twinkling lights surrounded her as she tilted her head up. They winked at her. They greeted her, even, like an old friend. 

Chilled air made its way through her chest as she breathed deeply, considering the sky before her. How many other worlds were up there, Mary wondered? She thought so often of these other worlds that she couldn’t see yet knew were out there. Marisa was proof of their existence, of their probability and tangibility. How many others were there? If Mary moved her hand out, as she did now, who and what was she touching? 

The night was full of mystery, as well as answers. Up above them were all the answers, Mary thought, even if she couldn’t even  _ begin  _ to fathom how to read them. But they were there, and they were trying to speak to her, practically  _ taunting  _ her. Mary knew with every ounce of intuition that they were there.

As she made her way back to the bedroom, her steps feather-light, she heard the monkey shift on the bed and then a light voice thick with sleep: “Where were you?”

Marisa was sitting up in their bed, squinting into the darkness toward her. Mary sighed as she closed the small distance between them and crawled back into the bed. After the slightest moment of hesitation Mary gathered Marisa up to her and brushed her lips against her forehead. “I’m here, love.”

“Were you looking at the stars again?”

“Yes, darling.”

Marisa was quiet as Mary held her. She was perfectly stiff and still in Mary’s arms, not reacting at all to Mary’s absentminded caresses and loose yet warm grip. From the corner of her eye Mary saw the woman’s daemon come closer, moving each paw tentatively in front of the other as if he were afraid of something. He looked toward Marisa, who seemed to be looking at nothing at all as she stared ahead of her.

It was a long moment of silence before one of them (Mary—always Mary) eventually spoke. “I heard you crying earlier.”

Perhaps Mary shouldn't have said it. In an instant Marisa was transformed, lashing out. She wiggled her way out of Mary’s arms and folded over on her side, hugging herself with her back to Mary. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Marisa,” Mary insisted, but thick tension filled the air between them now. Mary could almost choke on it, the way she breathed it in and it filled her chest the same way the cold air outside had. But this air was salty, volatile. It wasn’t fit for her consumption. It wasn’t what she wanted or expected. Marisa wasn't ready to talk about it yet, as painful as it still was. She wasn't able to let Mary in.

So Mary let it go, releasing her hold on Marisa and snuggling back onto her own side of the bed. Mary heard the monkey’s light movement from somewhere behind her, and after another second or two, felt his arm come to gently touch her back. 

“Oh, come on, then.”

He tangled himself up in her arms, making a light purring sound as she held him there. She was holding Marisa as well, she understood, and sensed the woman stir beside them at the contact. It was uncomfortable for her in some ways, she had explained. But she also said that didn't mean Mary wasn't allowed to do it. She hadn't exactly said this, but Mary thought perhaps she  _ liked  _ it when Mary treated her daemon with such tenderness and kindness. So Mary only tightened her grip, pressing her lips against the top of the monkey’s skull.

_ Let me love you,  _ Mary wanted to say, if only she could. The monkey grunted softly, as if to respond to her unspoken plea, but Mary was already drifting off to sleep before she woke up the next morning with Marisa already up and the daemon staring at her piteously. 

This was how it would be, Mary knew, stretching her arms out and letting out a slow, long yawn. Marisa rose with the blue birds as Mary fell with the owls. Marisa pushed away as Mary pulled in. Marisa faded out with the tide as Mary brightened in the dusk. 

Marisa was the sea and Mary was the stars, forever staring out at one another and forever together yet apart.

**Author's Note:**

> I came across this poem that I had saved on my phone, and I couldn't stop thinking about it: Marisa is the sea and Mary is the stars. So I did this thing. Not sure what it is, but as Mary would say, the answers are there, SOMEWHERE. Even if we don't understand them.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. :)


End file.
